


The Day We Cleaned Up After a Supernatural Episode

by AviDragonLady



Series: Supernatural Case Fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Demons, Elemental Dragons, Gen, Leviathans, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AviDragonLady/pseuds/AviDragonLady
Summary: What do we really know about secondhand furniture we've purchased, or been given?





	1. The local church donation place

I was having coffee in a local Minnesotan coffee chain, when my PCA (Personal Care Assistant) suggested we look in the newly reopened furniture donation station. It had been closed for months, for renovations. I wonder, looking back, if that's really why they were closed.  
   Don't get me wrong, it did look slightly different. The household goods area downstairs was more open, more organized. Upstairs, where the furniture is kept, there was an uphill slant to the floor that I don't recall being there before.  
   They didn't have a bed frame or dresser, which is what I needed, but they had 3 nice, tall filing cabinets. The one I have now is wide, which doesn't work in my tiny apartment. I needed a tall, narrow one.  
   I discarded the 2 drawer one immediately, because I'm an artist with a huge backlog of half-finished projects. This left three 4 drawer models. One was white, one beige, and the third was black. Because I buy my furniture at the big chain store up the hill, all of my furniture is black. Without further inspection (I only have so much time with my PCA and their SUV), I said I'd take the black one.  
   The two male volunteers hauled the bulky, yet surprisingly light cabinet into the purple SUV. With the back seat folded down, it fit a treat. We got it upstairs with the help of a dolly from the recycling room, and more helpful Minnesotans.  
   My PCA left, with the dolly, and I began the process of cleaning the secondhand piece of furniture. The first thing I noticed was the splash of whitish stuff down the lower half of the drawers. _Oh well,_ I thought. _Somebody spilled a drink or something._  
   Right. That's all it was.  
   I went through the drawers, to make sure there weren't dead bugs or anything inside. I grew up poor, I know how this could go bad.  
   Or so I thought.  
   The first drawer had one of those tiny clip things lodged in the track. _Yeah, typical office stuff._  
   The second drawer had a tea candle, with the wick slightly charred in the middle. Not like it had been lit, but as though something charred touched the flat, unused wick.  
    _Okay, that's a bit odd._  
   The third drawer had another unlit, yet lightly charred tea light. The hairs on the back of my neck rose a bit, I won't lie.  
   Then I came to the fourth drawer. If I hadn't been wearing my cross necklace, with salt lines at my door and windows, I would've sent that blasted filing cabinet back where it came from.  
   But I did, so I metaphorically rolled up my sleeves and mucked out the drawer.  
   Something of note, quite literally: in the morass of gunk at the bottom of the drawer was stuck an ancient newspaper clipping. It read as follows:

   "If they buy such" {gap where the corner stuck to the bottom of the drawer} "of the house cat also be... cents to $1 according to... and size. These skins are dyed and sold under the trade name of gennettes. There is a market also for lamb skins and kid skins, no matter how young the animals be when killed, though not all buyers handle them. That must be determined by correspondence.

**"Ship Furs Flat**

"Ship small furs to market flat, not rolled or folded over end to end. Wrap them in stout gunnysack cloth or other stout cloth, and tag them with substantial tags which all fur buyers furnish you free of charge if you ask for them, with your name and address plainly written on the tags. It is safest, too, to put a small tag on each pelt, with your name and address upon it. Instruct the company to which you ship to hold your consignment separate until you get their grading and prices for your acceptance or rejection. If you think the prices offered too low you can either have the furs returned to you, to be shipped to some other buyer,, or you can instruct the buyer to hold them for a better price if you think the market is going to be higher later on. Keep a carefully made list of each pelt you ship of all the different kinds."

    _Wait, people actually bought and used..._ house cat _furs?!_ I looked at my sweet, orange marbled tiger kitty and shuddered. No way I'd have let anyone _near_ him, in whatever frontier madness this was written for!!!


	2. Sam and Dean Roll into Duluth, MN

"So, what do we know about this place?"  
   Sam glanced up from the laptop screen. "Well, we know that people in the west end of town keep disappearing. No trace, not even clothes, or... electronic devices. I mean, everybody's got a phone these days, right?"  
   Dean squashed the small town runaway comment that sprang to mind, because Sam was right. With "Obama phones" being so easy to get, even welfare families had a cell phone. _And_ since they were government issued phones, they'd be able to track them when people went missing.  
   "So, what, monsters are eating phones now?"  
   "Or taking the battery out and trashing them."  
   Dean grunted. "I hate a smart monster." He thumped Baby affectionately. "Guess we've just gotta be smarter. Okay, so anywhere specific they disappear from?" His brow rose hopefully. "Local bar, maybe?"  
   Sam sighed. "Apparently, the west end is chock _full_ of bars for you to scope out."  
   Dean chuckled and slapped the wheel again. "My kinda research."  
   "Right. Well, I'll check out the vics' homes." Sam closed his laptop and settled into the leather seat for a nap. They were still in Wisconsin, so he had time to grab a few winks.  
   Three hours later, Dean eyed the run-down building with the burnt siding skeptically. "You sure you don't need backup?"  
   Sam swung his long, denim-clad legs out the door. "I think I can handle a few strung-out addicts. Go, booze it up. I'll be fine."  
   Dean reluctantly pulled away. It wasn't long before a wide grin stretched his lips, though. There were bound to be hot women and strong drinks in his future.  
   He was wrong. If he'd gone downtown, or somewhere near the college, there would have been prospects aplenty. Here, in the less well-off part of town, it was all town drunks and barflies.  
    _Well, if I was a monster, I'd hunt here, too. Not many people would miss these guys. Hell, I'm surprised they even got reported missing._  
_I hate the smart ones,_ he thought again.

   Sam looked around the dingy confines of the once stately old building. There were numbers nailed to the doors of most of the apartments. He was guessing that the one with the missing number was his goal, being next to number four. He double-checked upstairs, and the next number was six.  
   The lock didn't offer much resistance to his picks. The crime scene tape had already been partially removed. What greeted his eyes looked strangely similar to a motel room. He couldn't pinpoint why or how, but that was the vibe he got.  
   He didn't find anything related to the occult; no hex bags, no sulfur, nothing. EMF didn't pick up anything useful, because there was a power line nearby.  
   He moved on to the next apartment on the list. It was similar to the first, in that it vaguely resembled a cheap motel, but it was in a run-down building that was once someone's house. It seemed to be a trend to turn them into efficiency apartments, and it made him sad in an abstract way.  
   Every apartment he visited looked the same after a while. He wondered if the creature sought a type of victim. Did their efficiencies fill some need that the creature had? Did they attract it somehow?  
   He inspected the apartments for clues. What would attract something to these people, these places? Where were their personal effects? Were they killed here, in these eerily similar apartments, or knocked out and dragged to its den? He didn't see signs of a struggle in any of the efficiencies, either.  
_What happened here?_


	3. Barflies and Bums

"The only thing I can find linking the vics is how weirdly similar their apartments look. I mean, it's almost exactly like this motel room. Same crappy decor, albeit arranged differently, same run-down old houses divvied up into apartments..."  
   Dean held up a hand. "First off, 'albeit'? Second, this place is crappy, yeah, but it wasn't somebody's house. It's a motel, and it probably always was.  
   "Anyway, nobody in the dives around here knew anything. The women were awfully... grabby."  
   "And that's bad... how?"  
   Dean shuddered. "You didn't see them, man. Bottom of the barrel. Good thing I know there are hot chicks elsewhere in this town, or I'd just write the whole thing off as a loss." He smiled with some memory that Sam didn't share. Considering their last gig in Duluth involved Jo, he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know. Maybe he was just remembering Meg possessing his "little" brother, who knew?  
   Sam sat and thought about other things, _anything_ else, for a while. Then an idea that had been tickling the back of his mind jumped to the fore. "You ever wonder what they do with all the stuff that's too beat up, even for this place?"  
   Dean shrugged. "I dunno, junk it?"  
   Sam sat up straighter and began typing furiously on his laptop. After a few minutes, he perked up. "So it turns out some of these places donate them to local churches, charities, whatever. One of the nicer hotels in Canal Park gives away its beds when they're too old. I dunno how people find out about it, but... seems pretty successful."  
   "So what, you think a vengeful spirit from one of the... less swanky joints in town is piggybacking on the particleboard?"  
   Sam looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure. Everywhere I went, there were power lines nearby."  
   "We really need a more reliable way of finding ghosts, man."  
   "Yeah."  
   Dean thunked his beer on the nightstand, then glanced at the shabby wood warily. Visibly shaking himself, he said "Well, there's one way to find out."  
   "Hit all the donation stations in town?"  
   "Yep. One of 'em is likely to remember our guys, right? They're all guys, too. You notice that?"  
   Sam blinked. "No, but a lot of our vics are men, so I didn't think about it. Huh." 

   Two hours later, they slammed the doors of the Impala and looked at the list on Sam's laptop. "Unless there's someplace not listed, there's only one left. It _would_ have to be a church."  
  Sam glanced sideways at Dean. "You got something against churches?"  
   Dean put the car in gear with unnecessary force. "You ever notice how much bad stuff happens in or around churches? I dunno if it's the graveyards out back, or the rabid religious nuts inside of 'em."  
   Sam snorted. "This coming from someone who's met God."  
   Dean held up a finger. "Hey, there's a difference between _knowing_ and _believing_ , man. We know He exists, so we don't hafta go shoving His existence down everyone else's throats. The rest of these yahoos won't sleep good unless they convert a buncha people to _their_ way of thinking. And it's gotta be their way of believing in God, it ain't good enough to just believe the guy exists." He pulled away from the curb, again with more force than necessary. "That's how wars get started, and I'm not cool with that kinda belief."  
   That was more than Sam had ever heard from Dean on the matter. He hadn't known how strongly against religion his brother was. Okay, so he knew, but he'd never bothered to ask _why_.  
   "I think I recognize some of these men," the pleasant-faced woman said. "We get so many people through here, you understand. These gentlemen were here a few times, I think. Odds and ends, mostly. Might've gotten some furniture, but I don't do upstairs. You'd have to ask Bill. Although if they've been here, they'd be on the sign-in sheet. You have to sign in for everything, you know."  
   The Winchesters glanced at the sign in sheet, which asked for more information than a normal log book would. "Maybe it's for the pencil pushers?" Dean murmured.  
   Sam shrugged slightly. He turned to ask the woman if they could have a look at the logs from the past few months, but she'd disappeared.  
   "What the..?" Dean started to ask.  
   "Hey, uh, miss? Where'd your boss go?" he asked a middle-aged woman who hadn't been a "miss" in a while.  
   She looked up from the computer she was typing on. "We don't really have a boss, Agent. If you mean Barb, she went into her office."  
   The boys exchanged a Look, and darted toward the door the woman indicated.


	4. Sweet Old Church Ladies

Barb looked up in surprise when the Winchesters burst through her door. She was flipping through files in an old, beat up filing cabinet in a boring beige color.  
   "Didn't you want those log books, Agents? I'm sorry, was I supposed to wait for a warrant or something?" Innocent shock was written plainly on her face.  
   Sam glanced at Dean before entering the office at a more leisurely pace. "No, it's fine. We just..."  
   "Sorry, ma'am, but in our line of work, sometimes records are destroyed. On purpose, if you get my meaning." Dean was, as always, the one to get right down to the heart of a matter.  
   "Oh, goodness no! I just like to get things done in the right order, that's all. Would you like some coffee while you wait? There's a pot and some cups out in the lobby, and some pastries."  
   Dean's head automatically turned at the mention of pastries. Sam demurred, sat in the chair across from her desk. He waved Dean on, with the understanding that he would keep an eye out while he indulged his sweet tooth.  
   "So, ah, Barb, was it?"  
   "Oh ya, it's Barb, or Mrs. Stevenson, if ya like."  
   Sam cleared his throat. "Mrs. Stevenson, then. What kind of people do you usually get through here?" In his experience, her answer would reveal more about her character than that of the patrons of the establishment.  
   She flapped a hand. "Oh, ya know, people down on their luck. We don't charge for our goods, like Savers does. If they can't afford Goodwill, or the Salvation Army, they come here. All of our stock is donated, so why charge them when we didn't pay a dime? It's just not Christian."  
   Sam shifted in his seat. "Right." _Not exactly a killer monster's answer, but those pagan gods had sounded on the up and up._ He unconsciously rubbed the finger that lost its nail that night.  
   "So, would they have any enemies that you might know of? Not specific people, of course, but... Did any of them have any... unhealthy habits?"  
   She set the files on the desk before him with a sad face. "I don't ask, ya know, but sometimes you can smell it on their clothes. Sometimes, it's the demon rum. Others, it's Mary Jane. It's not my job to judge, and I couldn't tell ya which of those men smelled like which 'habits', I'm sorry. We just see too many people through here. Ask Bill. If they got any furniture from us, he'd be the one to know about it."  
   Sam stiffened slightly. "I didn't say they'd gotten their furniture from you."  
   She smiled that "Minnesota nice" smile. "I didn't say they had. I said _if_ they got furniture from us, Bill would know. The sign in sheet doesn't specify what they did or didn't get from us."  
   Sam noted the edge of steel under her voice as he scooped up the files and backed out the door, uttering vague pleasantries.  
   He and Dean sat with the files scattered across one of the motel beds, with Taco John's wrappers strewn over the other. _He's totally taking that bed tonight,_ Sam thought.  
   "Look here, another match," Dean said around a mouthful of potato oles.  
   Sam dragged his attention away from the crumb that nearly missed the paper he was holding and held up his own match.  
   "This is the last one. All of our vics got their furniture from this church."  
   Dean grunted and swallowed. "It's not a church anymore, just a branch of the church, or something like that."  
   Sam looked at him in that surprised way that asked without asking how he knew something.  
   "Chatty Cathy wouldn't leave me alone while you were in there. And by the way, those pastries were stale."  
   Sam's brow rose a notch. "I didn't hear any complaints, and you ate three of them. Besides, the people that go to those places are just happy to have something that isn't Ramen, or out of a can. If they can be grateful, so can you."  
   Dean grumbled something about them being free, at least.  
   "So, what, we go in after hours and scope the place out?" Sam asked.  
   Dean wiped his mouth and chucked the napkin in the general vicinity of the fast food bag. "That won't be as late as you think. They aren't open for very long, and it's only twice a week."  
   Sam sat up straighter. "Wait, so if they're only open two days a week, they wouldn't get so many people that she wouldn't recognize our vics. Right? I mean, look at these logs. Those names show up several times before they disappeared, and there's only a few pages per day."  
   "So the old lady lied. Damn! Why's it always the sweet old ladies?"  
   Sam rubbed his finger absently. "You think she's protecting someone?"  
   "Or some _thing_. We'll find out tonight, won't we?"


	5. Present Day

I started with disinfecting wipes. The whitish stuff on the outside of the filing cabinet came away fairly easily. Maybe it was the fact that I was cleaning metal, I don't know.  
    _Hmm, there's a dent on the back. Did that happen when we moved it? I don't remember hitting it on anything.  
_    I didn't feel comfortable leaving the candles in the drawers, so I took them out and set them uneasily on the desk. _To use them, or to throw them away?  
_    My fire dragon, Ember, snorted a puff of smoke as if to say _"duh! You_ light _them!"_ I rolled my eyes and went back to scrubbing the filing cabinet. Lots of gray stuff came off on the wipes. It was darker than dust. I wondered how long it sat where it was, before it was donated. _Does dust get darker over time?_ I didn't know.  
   My Earth dragon, Willow, sneezed miserably. I had allergy medication, but she didn't. _Poor thing,_ I thought. _Can dragons take Benadryl?  
_    I shooed her off to the potted plants and tackled the cabinet with more gusto. I went through countless wipes before finally nabbing the Magic Eraser. I looked at it, then the dragons scattered about the apartment, and giggled at its name.  
   I don't know _what_ they spilled in that bottom drawer, but it was _everywhere!_ It was black, bubbly, and gooey in the bottom, and sooty grey up the sides. Cleaning it tore the Magic Eraser to shreds by the time I called it good enough. I'm not sure I'll put anything besides art supplies in that drawer, because who knows _what_ that stuff was?!

    Dean threw the snarling, toothy thing into the mismatched filing cabinets at the back of the upstairs loft. Nothing they threw at the boy stopped him. Not holy water, silver, iron, or even fire. Since they hadn't dug up anything in their research, they didn't know what they were dealing with. It hadn't left any traces of its victims, and--there! The wide, toothy maw snapped open in a _very_ familiar fashion, all but obscuring its facial features. The hideously long tongue flopped about in rage.  
   Sam spotted a bucket of cleaning fluid and hurled it at the feral thing crouched against the wall of metal. It splashed the cabinets and the boy, and sure enough, his skin bubbled on contact.  
   Dean whipped the machete out of the back of his pants and lopped off the whimpering boy's head. It landed neatly in a drawer that sagged open.  
   "Well, that was handy. Why don't we get the body in the car, take it outside of town, and burn it."  
   "What about the head?" Sam asked.  
   "Well, it's already contained. Why don't we drown it in Borax?"  
   Sam looked queasy, but nodded. Dean doused the head with the entire bottle of cleaner out of the closet while Sam hauled the body out to the car. He knew to lay down the battered tarp before sullying the leather.  
   Dean questioned the severed head as it dissolved.  
   "Were you working with anyone else? Speak! There's more where this stuff came from!"  
   It gargled something, but its tongue was dissolving.  
   "Well, there goes that idea. Look, just so you know, we're gonna comb this entire town looking for more of your kind, and if we find them, we're gonna kill them, too. If you have any way of communicating that before you die, you might wanna do that."  
   He slammed the door shut, cleaning fluid sloshing everywhere. It wasn't a tight seal by any means. In fact, he wasn't sure there would be enough in there to finish the job.  
   "Dammit," he growled. He fished the head out, chucked it in a plastic bag, and carried it out to the trunk. "That wasn't gonna hold him forever. The damned drawer leaks too much. Guess we're burning it separate from the body."  
   The Impala roared away, leaving a mystery behind.  
   What were those candles for?  
   Why was that old, creepy cat pelt article in the filing cabinet?  
   How did the candles get burned without being burned?  
   Why was a Leviathan hunting in Duluth, and was he working alone?  
   Do we really appreciate stale pastries more, if they're free?


	6. Embers

I finally caved and lit one of the candles. I'd run out of tea candles for Ember, my fire dragon, and my witch friend said he needed one every day.   
   I let River have fun with my shower, and the cat's water bowl--mainly because I couldn't stop him, and he ignored the bowl I set out where the cat couldn't reach it. Maybe it was his small, nearly vestigial wings, I don't know.  
   Willow did her best to keep my container garden alive, despite my yellow thumb. Whisper was fine with the air purifier's breeze. All I had to do was keep the fur out of the intake vent, and she seemed happy.  
   But I'd had... issues with Ember when he was first sent to me. He fought me when I put the candle out before bed, which was why I'd switched to tea candles. They didn't burn very long, no matter how hard he tried. I didn't want to know what might happen if I just didn't light one at all, and there were two days left 'til I got paid. I had two candles from the filing cabinet.  
   In the end, I had to do it. If I'd known what was going to happen, I might have risked the wrath of my fire dragon.  
   To be safe, I drew a protection circle on the floor in chalk, with salt in a circle around the edge. The candle was on the kitchen counter, but if anything... materialized, it'd have to step down from the counter, right? _Yeah, let's put a ring of salt around that, too._ I wasn't taking chances with my safety, just to appease something roughly the size of my cat.  
   I hoped the cat wouldn't come out into the living room, but I knew he would, at some point. He was very attached to me. My witch friend claims he's my familiar, though she's never met him. So does the lady who raised my dragons, though she's not met him either.  
   I should probably say now that I don't _really_  believe in magic. I sort of have to believe in dragons, because four of them live with me, but their breath weapons, if they had any, could be purely biological in nature. For me to believe that my cat was my familiar, I would have to believe that magic worked.  
   Why did I put down the protective circles? I read the "Supernatural" books, _that's_  why! I also don't own a Ouija board, though I'm not sure I believe those are bad, either. They helped quite a bit in the books, but my sisters were adamantly set against my owning one. I don't know if they really work, so I didn't see the point in contradicting their wishes.  
   So I drew something from one of the books on the ground in chalk, hoping my shaky hands wouldn't distort the design to uselessness. I poured salt in a ring around both the design and candle. I stood to the side of the thing, with my grill lighter (did I mention Ember and I had issues? Yeah, I needed a grill lighter sometimes).  
   Nothing happened for a full thirty seconds. Being a rational human being with a potential nuke primed and lit, I'd leapt back after lighting the perceived fuse.  
   Ember had no such reservations. He calmly curled around the candle, on _top_  of the salt I'd been so careful to form. I rolled my eyes and started to turn away.  
   That was when _she_  appeared.  
   It was debatable who was more surprised: myself, the _thing_ that appeared, or Ember. He recovered first, hissing at her to get _off_  him!  
   She fell off the counter in surprise, and got stuck in the circle in an awkward position. I hadn't drawn it big enough for her to right herself, so she hunched there, glaring at me through her own legs.  
   "I'm guessing you aren't my next meal, but what _are_  you? Are you a witch?" She contorted in ways that no human body should have, until she balanced on the balls of her feet in the circle. She could've stood, but she seemed to enjoy the way it sent shivers down my spine.  
   Ember hissed again, which seemed to be a summons for the other three. I don't know, because I don't speak draconic, but I saw the effect. River came scrabbling out of the bathroom, skidding around the corner. Whisper was already behind me, having seen the thing materialize from her air purifier bed. Willow was nesting, but she hissed as loudly as her little body could manage. It echoed around the green pot I'd painted for her in the spring, but... to be honest, it wasn't very threatening. None of it was.  
   It wasn't threatening, _to me_ , I should say. The thing crouched on the floor saw that it was outnumbered, and tried to evacuate. When it left the poor soul it had inhabited, however, Ember decided to shoot flames into the terrifying black cloud.  
   Can I just say how disconcerting it is to see a fireball get sucked down someone's throat? I guess the thing tried to retreat back into the body it had stolen, but Ember was relentless. Much to my surprise, so was Whisper! The most I'd ever seen her do was annoy the cat, but she reared up and blew icy wind down its throat, feeding the flame Ember conjured.  
   River tried. I love him to bits, but... Yeah, not even he could prevent the explosion that splattered my entire kitchen with gore. If anything, the water on the exterior may have sharpened the contrast with the fire within. After all, I presume the body was human, once. It could only withstand so much heat and cold combined.  
   I thought it was over, as any rational being would. I dropped on my butt amidst the remnants of humanity with a wet, sickening _squelch_. River groomed me as best he could, but I knew I would need a _very_  thorough scrub in the immediate future. His chubby cheeks scrunched up with... concern..?  
   We didn't have long to rest on our liquefied laurels. Apparently, the thing didn't _need_ a body to do its dirty work. The tattered remnants of smoke launched at me, no longer restrained. The blood had effectively smeared all of my protections.  
    _Damn!_  I swore. _Guess we're doing this the hard way._


	7. Possession

Now, I said I wasn't a witch. I don't believe in magic, not fully. However, I'd already purged unclean spirits from this apartment twice before. I'd perfected the technique, with the help of a proper Exorcist.  
   I snatched the holy water, the only thing that I knew wouldn't have been tainted by the explosion. I didn't know if the crosses on the door frames, or the salt lines, were intact, but I'd left the holy water sealed for a reason. I hurled it into the tattered cloud in controlled arcs, being sparing with my limited supply. Latin rolled off my tongue, perhaps not perfectly, but I was told that the _intent_ was the important part.  
   The smoke formed an arrow and shot toward me, only to splinter into wisps half a foot from my face. I snarled at it in Latin, confident in my personal warding.  
   Didn't I mention? I'm a Supernatural fan. I had The Tattoo, so it couldn't touch me. As an added measure of protection, I'd used Catholic prayers to erect the armor of some saint, I don't remember which. If the creature thought the visible wards were all I had guarding me, it was sorely mistaken.  
   Willow spat elemental acid at the cloud, and it retreated a bit. While she wouldn't intervene with it inside the circles, the thing was free to contaminate her nest, so she'd decided to join the fray. She was a nesting dragon, and anyone who knew better gave them wide berth, or _birth_ , as it were.  
   Ember spun around it, corralling it as a herd dog would a lost sheep. River nipped at the bits trailing close to the floor, which would be funny _much_ later. Whisper alternated rotations with Ember, cooling the fiery bits.  
   Now that they had the thing securely pinned for the moment, I chanted in Latin, then English, then Latin again. It was more stubborn than most spirits, I'll give it that. But in the end, it could not withstand the assault of four dragons and a fledgling Exorcist.  
   Particularly one that believed as strongly as I do. I think in the back of my mind was all of the times my faith had carried me through hard times, because when it finally evaporated into millions of bits, I found my cheeks wet.  
   For the second time that night, I dropped on my butt, right in the gore and muck. River anxiously crawled in my lap and licked my face. Ember coiled around the troublesome candle, disinterested in human emotions. Perhaps with a fire elemental, emotions were dangerous, I don't know. Willow went back to her eggs in the soil of chili pepper seedlings. Whisper hovered as near as she dared, knowing that her elemental cold would make my joints ache, but her concern registered dully. I briefly stroked her spiky skull with my nondominant hand, then warmed it on River's scales.  
   "Thanks, guys. I don't know if I could have done that on my own." Varying degrees of acknowledgement showed that they at least heard the words, whether or not they needed to.  
   A knock on the door startled us all. Willow... I dunno, sort of _barked_..? Ember and Whisper hissed, and River squawked rather indignantly.  
   Only the cat was unaffected by the sound. He sauntered out into the living area, stretched, and paused beside one of the bookcases. He sniffed the air avidly, then promptly hid under the bed.  
    _Guess I can't put off cleanup 'til tomorrow._ I sighed wearily.  
   I climbed to my feet, holding River because he wouldn't budge. I peeked through the peephole, and there were two men standing there in suits.  
  _Greeeat,_ I thought. _I bet I look like something out of a horror movie. Maybe they'll just go away.  
_    They didn't. Maybe one of my neighbors did something, and they needed a witness. It was that sort of building. Well, they could jolly well come back later.  
   I walked toward the bathroom to clean up, but a sound caught my ear. _Were they picking the lock?!  
_    I stalked back to the door, snatching a knife off the magnetic strip, and stood outside the perimeter of the chain. Let's just say they weren't expecting someone to be home, and holding a knife in their faces.  
   "I don't know who you are, but this is _not_ a good day to break into my home."  
   I knew full well that I was covered in what was left of the poor soul who'd been possessed, and I used it to my advantage.  
   "I don't want to have to kill anybody else, so why don't you just back up and rethink your lives, eh?" The knife wasn't very sturdy, but I poked it at their faces. Much to my surprise, they didn't leave.  
   The shorter one snatched the flimsy knife from my damaged wrists easily. "Why dontcha watch where you're waving that? Look, we don't wanna hurt you, but it looks like you need help."  
   I laughed in their startled faces, perhaps a trifle hysterically. "You're a bit late, boys, We've already taken care of it, in case you couldn't tell."


	8. Blood and Gore

Dean looked down at the woman covered in innards, and he wanted to believe her. "Look, if you're the person we're looking for, there's no guarantee you're safe. Can we come in?"  
   She eyed him warily. "How do I know you're safe? You could be another one of those _things_."  
   Sam nudged his arm and pointed at hers. Dean looked, and inwardly groaned. He reached through the door and neatly nabbed one slightly fleshy bicep to inspect the symbol tattooed on it. She'd decorated the anti-possession tattoo with a dreamcatcher and some words, but she'd been wise enough to know not to let anything touch the symbol itself.  
   He thrust her arm from him, untied his tie, and yanked his shirt to one side. He heard stitches pop, but at least he didn't lose a button this time. Sam was slightly ahead of him.  
   Her eyes widened. "Oh... Uh, yeah... Lemme just get the door, 'kay?"  
   She closed the door, undid the chain (though they could have busted it if they had to), and opened the door wider. She glanced around the cramped hallway, ushering them in quickly.   
   When they saw what the kitchen looked like, they understood why. Dean also understood her blush when he saw no evidence of a husband, or boyfriend. _Crap.  
_    "Can you tell us what happened here?" Sam asked in that sensitive way he had. She responded to it, whether because _everybody_  did, or because she had the hots for his brother, he didn't care. She dished the goods, and that's all they needed.  
   "Hold on, I don't understand. If you knew the candle was bad mojo, why'd you light it in the first place?"  
   She didn't want to tell them. She was more than willing to tell them about her protections, and wards, and the demon exploding chant, but she clammed right up when he asked about that candle.  
   Sam crouched next to her in that gore-splattered chair and did what he did best. "Look, we aren't calling you reckless, or stupid, we just want to know why you'd do something you thought  _might_ be bad. We get that you didn't know for sure it _was_ , but what made you take that risk?" He picked up the other candle that Dean hadn't seen and asked why it was so important.  
   "Did you have a spell that needed a candle?"  
   Life sparked into her eyes, which gave him hope. When people got mad, they tended to say more than they intended to.  
   "I don't do _spells!_ " She spat the word like it was made of shit. "I use _prayers,_ thank you very much! That reminds me, I need more holy water..."  
   She picked up the empty jar and stood up. Sam stood right with her.  
   "You haven't answered my question." He hadn't moved, either. They were chest to chest. Proximity tended to unnerve people, and it most _definitely_  unsettled the little lady! She slid around him like a cat around a doorway, and started to set the jar on the counter. The puddles of unidentifiable goop stopped her.  
   She ran to the bathroom and vomited, still clutching the little jar.  
   "Definitely not a witch," he said. "Witches don't have a problem with body fluids."  
   "Plus I don't see any paraphernalia anywhere," Sam added. They both knew it didn't mean much, though.  
   She didn't seem to be anywhere close to stopping her abuse of the toilet, so they split up and searched the living area. There wasn't much to it, and all they found was shelves full of fantasy and romance novels. They didn't dare search her bedroom, because it was directly off the bathroom, and she hadn't bothered to close the door. They couldn't see her around the corner anyway.  
   Sam was glancing at the container garden simply for lack of anything else to look at, when he saw something move.  
  _"Dean!"_ he whispered urgently.  
   Quiet as he was, the girl heard him. She stumbled out of the bathroom, tripping over a fuzzy orange cat in the process. Fear was written all over her face. _I_ knew _she had a secret!_  he thought triumphantly.  
   "Don't touch that, or you'll pay dearly," she gasped around lingering nausea.  
   Dean held a hand over the pot, reckless as he'd assumed her to be.  
   Strangely, she smiled. It was a sickly thing, but there was a certain amount of sadistic glee in that smile. The night had been rough for her, and she seemed only too happy to see someone else suffer.  
   "I did warn you." She leaned on the doorframe unsteadily, arms crossed.  
   Sharp pain shot through his hand. He jerked it back, and wasn't terribly surprised to see it bleeding.  
   "What the _hell?_ "  
   Only then did he realize that it wasn't the radiator along the bottom of the wall that was making that hissing noise.


	9. Dragons

She walked toward him, and he backed away from the pots. Sam hadn't aggravated whatever was in them, so he stayed put. She shot him a look through short, spiky lashes that was unbearably smug.  
   She reached into the pot. Sam reflexively tried to stop her, but she calmly reached with her other hand and seemed to stroke the soil in the pot.  
   "I know, sweetling. Don't worry, the mean old man won't hurt your eggs."  
  _"Eggs?!"_  both boys asked incredulously.  
   "What kinda critters you got incubating in this apartment, lady?" Dean asked, holding his bloody hand.  
   She glared at him, eyes shooting metaphorical sparks. The thing that landed on her shoulder, however, was glaring _actual_  sparks. On her other shoulder, a third creature hissed a warning.  
   The effect was rather spoiled when she had to bend down and pick up the fourth one. It was small, round, and actually kind of adorable. It valiantly tried to look intimidating, but those baby cheeks weren't cutting it.  
   Sam, being much closer than him, looked like he was sweating. The sparky one was radiating more heat than the floor vent was.  
   "I wasn't going to tell you, but since you seem to be so _nosy_ , I happen to have the honor of hosting four elemental dragons." She reached up and scratched Sparky on the chest. It nuzzled her hair briefly, still glaring at him.   
   "I lit the candle for Ember."  
   "Those things have _names?_ " he growled, still holding his hand.  
   "It would be rude not to give them names, now, wouldn't it? After all, they're here to protect me." She stroked the chubby blue face of the one in her arms fondly, though she didn't break eye contact, either.  
   "So," Sam said, drawing out the word uncertainly, "you lit the candle for... Ember, and the demon popped out?"  
   She turned to face him, keeping Dean in her peripheral. "Yes, but as you can see, all that is left is cleanup. They were rather... thorough in their destruction of the... demon." She looked a little green around the gills, but she didn't puke again.  
   Sam held out the other candle. "The candle was a summoning device, right? How do you know this one won't summon it again? Or another demon?"  
   She shuddered a little. "Trust me, they were _very_  thorough. So was the prayer I used. It didn't banish the thing. It sort of... exploded... just like the..."  
   She spun toward the window, a hand over her mouth. The dragons on her shoulders struggled to stay upright. Both turned to glare at the boys.  
   Being the more sentimental one, Sam risked touching her back. Since she didn't object, neither did her pets. The fiery one did gnaw on his sleeve a bit, but it didn't puncture the fabric. It was definitely a gentler warning than _he_  got! He had to remind himself that the fiery one wasn't sitting on a bunch of eggs, either.  
   "Look, I know you're scared, but we need to light the other candle and make sure it won't summon anything else. We're here because another demon told us about these candles. He didn't say whether they call the same one every time, or a different one, or if they're keyed to anything specific."  
   She waved a hand at him. "Go ahead, I don't care. Just be nice and light it before I clean up after the last one, okay?"  
   She turned her head to the fiery dragon and apologized. "Sorry buddy, no candle tomorrow." It didn't look happy, but it nodded.  
   "I'm sure we can swing a couple of candles," Sam said without consulting him.  
   She sniffled. "I get mine at the dollar store. I love ya, bud, but I'm not rich." She scratched under its chin, and he swore if it could've purred, it _would_ have!  
   "Do you mind if we draw another circle before we light it?" Sam asked.  
   She shrugged. "Long's you don't use spray paint, sure. I've got enough cleanup as it is."  
   Sam and Dean made eye contact briefly over her head.  
   "Who says we're gonna use spray paint?" Dean asked.  
   She gestured to one of the bookshelves. Uncomfortably certain he'd know what he saw, he looked at the titles arranged in alphabetical order by author. He skipped straight to the "S" section, and sure enough, there were Chuck's books.  
   " _Dammit!_  I swear, one of these days I'm gonna throttle Chuck!"  
   "Not that it'd do any good," Sam said without elaborating. They knew that Chuck's alter ego as God wasn't in the books, and they weren't going to spread it around, either.  
   Dean turned around, and the woman was staring up at them with wide eyes. _Damn!_  he swore again. He knew _that_  look by now! Question was, was she a Sam girl, or a Dean girl?  
   She surprised them both by holding out a hand, first to Sam, then to Dean.  
   "Nice to meet you. I didn't know they were real, but... I guess since the tattoo worked, I shouldn't be too surprised, huh?"  
   The boys looked at each other, tentative relief in their eyes. They remembered how Becky acted, and to be honest, after the play at the all girl school, they were beginning to think there wasn't a normal person alive that read "their" books.  
   "So... no spray paint this time, huh? I find that a little water keeps the salt from going far... unless somebody explodes..." A little whimper fought its way free, despite her obvious attempts to smother it.  
   Sam being Sam, he pulled her into a one-armed hug. It was all he could manage, with the blue dragon in the way. Much to everyone's dismay, she burst into tears.


	10. The Second Candle

I dropped River on the bowl chair behind who I now knew was Sam Winchester, and wrapped my arms around his torso. River meeped at me, but I needed somebody I could properly hold onto while reaction set in. It was embarrassing, but a person can only handle so much at once.  
   Whisper and Ember squawked in irritation, and eventually perched elsewhere. Sam put his giant head on top of mine and let me cry it out. I couldn't even _look_  at Dean! I knew full well that he didn't do well with crying women, and I'd always sworn that I'd never be one of Those Women in the books.  
    _Well,_ that _worked, didn't it?_  I thought acidly. I kept seeing the intestines draped over the dish drainer, the clumps of hair everywhere... Bile clawed its way up my throat, but I was _not_  about to vomit on one of my favorite literary characters!  
   Dean said something about making the circle, but I couldn't really hear through Sam's bicep. I tried not to think about how firm everything was, because I knew why he had to be in good shape. I thought of my own flabby body and resolved to get some more gym time in soon.  
   When the storm passed, I backed away and angrily smeared my face sort of clean with my shirt collar. "Listen, do you guys mind if I clean up while you do... whatever it is you do? It's hard to think clearly when my hair feels... chunky..." I fought another wave of nausea.  
   "Yeah, sure. We know what to do. G'won, we'll handle it from here."  
   Dean was wiping a spot clear on the floor when he shooed me away. _At least that spot will be clean,_  I thought wryly. _However long_ that  _lasts...  
_    I stood under the shower spray, trying not to think about who was in my living room, or why. I also tried not to think about how well-muscled the boys were, or how handsome they were. Sure, they didn't look like the covers of the books, but they'd been through Hell, literally. There was a certain rugged appeal to them.  
  _Nope, nope, nope. Not gonna think about that. Besides, they're wayyy outta_ my  _league! Focus on the job at hand, right? Right.  
_    That devolved into worrying about whether something else would manifest, so I just played with River for a bit after I was probably mostly clean. If I'd missed anything, well, for all I knew, I'd have to come right back in the shower after they lit the second candle.  
   I got out and toweled off more briskly than was necessary. River lapped at the droplets that dribbled from the faucet for a bit after the water was turned off. My cat anxiously rubbed against me for affection, thereby getting fur on my newly washed skin. I sighed inwardly and put on the clothes I'd grabbed at random. They didn't match, but who cared?  
   When I came out into the living area, it was _vastly_  improved. Sure, there was a faint pink tinge to just about everything, but the worst of the chunks were gone. Tears welled in my eyes again.   
   Sam spotted me first. "Feel better?"  
   I nodded, not bothering to wipe my eyes. "It looks a lot better in here, too. Thanks for that."  
   Dean finished drawing the symbol on the ceiling and stepped down off the chair, brushing the chalk off his hands. "Yeah, well, we didn't want you to upchuck while we're interrogating a demon." He seemed to be uncomfortable being thanked.  
   Sam hastened to reassure me. "Not that we know anything _will_  show up, of course."  
   "Of course," Dean added belatedly.  
   "Right, well..." I clapped my hands together and rubbed briskly. "Let's light this candle."


	11. Waiting Game

The boys stood on either side of the salt ring on the floor. I absently noted that they'd taken my advice about the water. Dean knelt, and lit the candle the same way I'd done: arm outstretched with the grill lighter. He, too, sprang away once it was lit.  
   Ember hovered at the edge of the circle, loath to disturb the ring, yet drawn to the flame. He didn't like letting it burn without warming his hide on it, perhaps drawing strength. I didn't really know how they worked, to be honest. I'm still not sure that I do.  
   Thirty seconds passed, then sixty. I gradually relaxed as the minutes stretched on.  
   Dean, still on edge with a knife in his hands (yes, that was a pun), asked how long we had to wait.  
   "The last one was here in under a minute," I said with some confidence. I didn't think anything was likely to show, so I'd regained some measure of comfort.  
   The boys exchanged a look that probably meant something to them, but was undecipherable to me. The books never bothered to explain, not that it would have done me any good in the real world.  
   "Do we wait until it's out?" Sam asked uncertainly.  
   Ember coiled around it, thereby removing the chance of snuffing the candle. "I'm going to take that as a yes," I said wryly. "Trust me, you don't want to come between him and a lit candle."  
   They looked at me with a hint of respect. "Can you do it?" Dean asked.  
   "Sometimes," I hedged. "There's an art to it, and he's got to be willing to let me put it out. Since he knows he won't get another candle 'til I get paid in two days, he's probably going to milk this one for all it's worth."  
   I asked if their informant had mentioned how long the candles took to summon one of its kind. They squirmed uncomfortably.  
   "We, ah, didn't get much out of him. I think the only reason he told us what he did was because he knew you had a couple of nukes in your possession." Dean was reluctant to tell me even that much, I could tell.   
   "Well, since we have to wait a couple of hours anyway, why don't you tell me what I don't know?"  
   Dean started when I said it'd take hours, but they sat cross-legged with me on the floor and told me about the case they'd worked a few months back.  
   "Yeah, I guess that'd need a bit of renovating to fix." They didn't get the connection until I told them about the donation center being closed for renovations.  
   They exchanged another Look.  
   "Anyway, we were on another case when this demon drops the bomb about the candles. Says we left a couple of them behind in Minnesota. After that, he just clammed up."  
   "Yeah, and we never did find who that kid was working with, so we figured this was the place. Say, was the demon that showed up hot?"  
   Sam elbowed him. "No, no, it'd explain why their apartments were clean. He marks the target, she lures them out to wherever, and they... do whatever they want with him."  
   "Makes sense," Sam and I said simultaneously. I blushed, because I was remembering the last time they had to wait and see if something happened. I knew it wasn't going to happen tonight, but I had a vivid imagination, and I was single.  
   "So, after we find out if this candle was tied to _her_ ," I shuddered "I presume you're going to look for their killing grounds?"  
   They didn't want to answer, though I don't know why. "I don't want to go _with_ you, if that's what you're worried about. I just want to know that I'll be _safe,_  after you leave this time." Okay, so I laid it on a little thick with the guilt, but if they'd been more thorough, my apartment wouldn't look like a scene from one of their books.  
  To their credit, they seemed to realize their mistake.  
   "Maybe while we wait, we can clean up a bit more. I don't want the maintenance guys in here for something or other until it's, y'know, blood free. They keep changing whether or not the electrical panel screws are painted, so I never know when they'll drop in."  
   They looked at each other, shrugged, and asked where the supplies were. We set to work, at least one of us trying not to think about _what_ we were scrubbing, keeping a wide berth around the candle. I wound up having to put the cat in his crate, which he hated, but he kept stepping in either gore or salt. I put a can of wet food in there with him, but he just scowled and meowed the whole time.  
   By the time we got everything reasonably clean, my eyelids were drooping. I valiantly tried to hide my fatigue, but killing a demon without one of their knives is exhausting. Cleaning up afterwards, with a body that did not want to bend or flex the way it needed to, was equally tiring.  
   It was Sam who bodily turned me and nudged me toward my bedroom. I guess they figured out which way the wind blew, on _that_  front.  
   "Aw c'mon, I can't let you guys stay up and keep watch. I know it's not your first time, but--" I snapped my mouth shut and bolted for my room. I didn't want to remind Sam of the werewolf girl. What was her name? Allison..?  
   I let the cat out, but couldn't shut the door. He'd just meow and scratch at it all night, and my door frames were _metal_. I closed it as much as I dared, which was about as wide as his furry body, and crawled into bed. I didn't expect to sleep anytime soon, but as soon as my cat was curled around my head, I was out.  
   I'm a light sleeper, and nothing woke me up. When I padded out into the living area, it was empty. I fought a wave of disappointment, resolutely resuming my boring life. When I went to make my eggs and coffee, the same as I did every morning, there was a note on the crowded counter. 

**"Noelle,**

**We got your name from the sign in sheet. We're going to look for, as you called it, the killing grounds. We won't leave again until we've found it. You'll hear from us, one way or the other. Don't worry, we'll get it right this time."**

   I didn't know which one wrote the note, but I was pathetically glad that I'd get to see them one more time. I fully acknowledged the silliness of it, even as I tucked the note into one of my scrapbooks for proper treatment later.  
    _Well, that was a nice break from the monotony. Back to ordinary life,_  I thought, even as I lit one of the pink candles that was in the 8 pack atop the note. The fact that I lit it for an extraordinary creature escaped me, if I'm honest.


End file.
